


Sinister Science

by Zodiac



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Acting like the scientist that he is, Aortal fucking, Blood, Diego - Freeform, Gore, It is now, Just heaps of gore, M/M, Rape, Slight gunplay, is that even a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zodiac/pseuds/Zodiac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diego has some twisted fantasies that he could never even hope of going through with Kevin. However, with the acquirement of a particular radio station host, he's free to fulfill all those fantasies with someone who looks almost just like his own partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinister Science

**Author's Note:**

> So [Nazi Nurse's](http://nazi-nurse.tumblr.com/) followers demanded skullfucking, but I'm a tiny bit iffy when it comes to eye trauma and I didn't want to research the effect of slamming your dick into someone's eye, so I thought 'What's another thing in the human body I can stick a dick in in a horrifying manner?' Due to roleplaying shenanigans I had to Google 'What is the diameter of an aorta?' and 'What is the average diameter of the human penis?'. I think you can get where I'm going here.

When Cecil awoke, it was not in his bed as he thought he would be, snuggled up to a special little scientist, snoozing all his problems in the waking world away. No, it was instead on an unforgiving metal table, chest bare, leather straps digging into his wrists and ankles, keeping him right in that unfamiliar place with no hope of escaping. And hovering up above him while he was in such a vulnerable position? A mere mockery of that beautiful face he had grown used to seeing nearby defaced with a smile that contained too many teeth, blackened eyes set deep in their sockets, and an expression that somehow managed to be both disturbingly pitying and disgustingly sadistic at the same time.

Whatever this man was, he most certainly was _not_ Carlos.

“Ah, wonderful time to finally join me, Cecil… Palmer, was it?” That eerily similar voice crooned to him as deft hands worked on buttoning a pristine lab coat over a suit that looked more expensive than what Cecil himself was worth, snapping on a pair of latex gloves over his hands after that. “I was just about to start the procedure regardless of the state of your consciousness, but it’s always nice to have a… _captive_ audience when I perform my work. So nice of you to grant me that pleasure.”

“Procedure?” Cecil repeated with a soft groan as he lolled his head to keep his eyes on the new owner of the radio station, normally silver tongue now made of lead from the sheer surprise and suddenness of everything. “What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

Rather than immediately answer the demand, he grinned down at his victim, caressing the handle of a nearby scalpel as he leered at him. “It comes to no surprise to those around me that I, a greedy, ruthless businessman, always end up receiving exactly what I desire. Sometimes the things I desire seem impossible to acquire, but I always manage to attain the seemingly unattainable, especially when I discover the existence of a certain little radio host who looks almost precisely like my own.”

“What are you getting at here?” The reporter growled back, straining at his bindings. “Yeah, you own my contract since you bought up the station, but that doesn’t explain why you have me trussed up like I swallowed a bag of wheat bread or dared to drink from a martini glass.”

Tsking softly at the interruption, the doppelganger pressed the blade of the scalpel against the naked flesh of his chest, not applying enough pressure to draw blood, just tracing aimless patterns along his skin. “You see, there are some things you are loathe to attempt with your own lover for fear of permanently damaging them, but then a near-identical copy of them shows up and suddenly you crave to do all those things and more to this new version of them, whether out of some twisted aspect of your psyche or just plain old scientific curiosity. This is precisely why I have brought you in here today, Mister Palmer.”

That summoned up a whole new wave of struggling, snarled curses being hissed out at him as Cecil tugged and yanked at the straps holding him right where he was, the material not yielding in the slightest.

“Now, now,” The scientist crooned, free hand reaching out to grab a small tape recorder from his table of supplies, “the more you struggle, the worse it will be for you, I’m warning you now.” His words were met with only an increased effort to escape and he rolled his eyes, deciding that further prolonging of his plan would only serve to be more of an annoyance than anything. Pressing a button on the tape recorder, he set it right back where it had been, tightening his grip on his scalpel.

“This is Diego, head of the science department.” He spoke clearly, loudly to be heard over the growled mutterings of his patient, voice having a cold, detached tone to it. “On my laboratory table here, I have one Cecil Gershwin Palmer, a resident of Night Vale. I have taken him in to test several of his attributes, mostly his body and mind’s ability to survive extreme trauma placed upon them and to note the effects of sudden and quick blood loss. Note that I have injected a drug to dilate his aorta while he was still unconscious for the sake of my observations, so that may very well skew my results. Now, I shall begin by exposing his ribcage.”

And he started doing precisely that, scalpel edge now digging into and slicing through layers of skin, muscle, and fat, cutting away the protective layers to expose the bone beneath. And, oh, that lovely symphony of cries that erupted from Cecil’s well-trained throat! They had hardly gotten started and already a glorious cacophony of shrieks and whimpers, groans and moans, greeted his ears and the recorder.

Oh, he was all-too right for choosing Cecil like he had.

Next came the ribs themselves, the blood-spattered bones selfishly shielding his prize from his sight. The now-useless scalpel was traded out for a far heftier bone saw, the heavy serrated edge being laid across an entire side of the ribs. It took a bit of effort to get it going, but once Diego had begun to work up a decent momentum, the bone separated from its roots as easily as dragging a hot knife through a slab of butter. The action was repeated on the other side and the entire rack of ribs was pried from its housing, revealing all the flesh and organs it had been shielding, lungs and heart working at a frantic pace due to their host’s panic.

“The ribcage has been exposed and the frontal section removed.” He intoned to the recorder, swapping the saw back out for the scalpel. “And now the aorta will be examined _thoroughly_.”

Any leftover curses that Cecil was uttering had by now been fully replaced by pained and fearful whimpers and he shot a worried glance up at his tormentor at that particular sentence. Sure, he didn’t know _too_ much about all that sciencey stuff, but from what he saw on Carlos’ diagrams in the lab, the aorta seemed to be pretty darn important. He could only hope that this ‘examination’ was a gentle one…

A hope that was quickly dashed as the blade connected with the delicate artery, snipping through the already-strained vessel with practiced ease. Blood immediately sprayed forth from the wound, the pressure forcing it to gush out and coat everything within reach, including the formerly unstained coat which the scientist wore.

“Subject seems to have an average blood pressure from a glance, perhaps a bit higher than usual, but that is something to expect from one living in Night Vale.” Diego continued on, though perhaps a bit breathier, more excited than he had been prior, free hand reaching out to grip and tug at the aorta as his patient beneath screeched and writhed in distress and agony, putting that pretty voice of his to proper use. “Next, I will, ah, test the durability of the subject’s aorta. It can be assumed that, due to the increased amount of stress and fight-or-flight reactions Night Vale citizens deal with on a day-to-day basis, that the circulatory system has toughened up to adapt to said stress. Well, we shall quickly see whether this hypothesis is true or not.”

That said, he put the scalpel down, freeing up his dominant hand to unzip his pants and shove them and his boxers down to his ankles. Then, he propped himself up on the same table as his subject, legs situated on either side of his waist, knees clamping down on his hip bones. With the new position and the way he had tugged the artery out of where it should lay, it was far too easy to simply slide into it, carelessly shoving his cock right into the widened aorta.

“ _Ah_ … subject’s aorta s-seems to be in proper working order…” He breathed out, thrusting into the tight fleshy tubing, careful not to rip or cut it any further with the force he was using. With every pump into it, fresh blood sloshed out and around his dick, coating it with the warmth of human life and a source of lubrication that renewed itself each time Cecil’s heart gave a desperate throb, a pulse that only sent more of his precious fluid out of his body. “E-even when dilated, it seems to be tight, barely, ah, able to t-take what I have inserted into it to test s-s-such things. Truly a remarkable specimen…”

That was when he noticed the gurgling, strained protests still making their way out of Cecil’s throat and he growled out of annoyance, not appreciating how this _creature_ insisted upon ruining his important research recording with his insistent disobedience. “I am afraid that t-the subject is being… rather noisy. For the sake of this recording, I w-will, ngh, gag him with materials that I happen to have on-hand.”

It turns out that the ‘materials’ Diego was talking about just so happened to be his trusty revolver, which he plucked from the same table that held his medical tools with the hand that didn’t have a tight grip on the artery he was fucking. Cocking the hammer of the firearm, he suddenly thrust the barrel into Cecil’s mouth until the muzzle scraped against the back of it, prodding against the tender flesh there. That certainly seemed to shut the radio host right up, his eyes scrunching shut in fear as his lips instinctively sealed around the harsh tang of metal, trying to prevent it from being shoved in any further.

 _Oh_ , he definitely resembled Kevin when his eyes and teeth weren’t visible.

That thought was all Diego needed in order to be rougher with his actions, thrusting harder into the blood-filled channel as he curled a shaking index finger around the gun’s trigger. The mere thought of the prone, shivering form beneath him being Kevin’s, his precious Kevin’s, as he and he alone was the first and last to use him, to be this deep inside of him, in such a wicked, wretched, addictive, _perfect_ way… it was sheer _bliss_.

But he could _never_ use Kevin in such an irresponsible way, which was the reason for acquiring the closest thing he had to his own precious broadcaster. He could use this vile wretch of a man all he wanted, for he practically owned him in the takeover of the Night Vale station. He owned this mere double of Kevin’s, so he was free to do all the deplorable actions he never could and never will with his darling lover to this thing who _dared_ to masquerade as him.

And a masquerade it was, a flawless one if one was unable to see the eyes and teeth.

Which Diego was unable to, so, for all of his intents and purposes, he was currently fucking himself into Kevin’s circulatory system, grinding the cold steel of his gun into his mouth as blood caked and splattered against his thighs. Each thrust into that wet, squelching mess just sent more and more bursts of pleasure to radiate through his lower body, seeping and jolting throughout his entire being as his actions grew ever frenzied by the second. His hips began to move erratically and the hand holding the gun started to shake even more, trigger finger in constant threat of accidentally pulling it and blowing a hole clean through Cecil’s throat. Panting heavily, he glanced at Cecil’s face, seeing it in that gorgeous mix of disgust and pain, fear and misery, that he would never be able to mimic on Kevin’s face, and he absolutely _lost it_.

Snarling loudly, he thrust into the aorta one final time before the dam of pleasure that had been building in his abdomen burst, spilling out in a wave of cum that mixed with the few spurts of blood that his body still contained. He let his orgasm fully wash over him before pulling out both his softening cock and his gun, gulping down air as he just stared down at Cecil, who was practically completely catatonic at this point.

“S-subject still seems to be alive even after immense blood loss.” Diego explained to the still-running recorder, awe in his own voice. “As a _completely ethical_ man of science, I will put the subject out of his misery as recovery from such a wound is unlikely even considering how he is still alive.”

So, moving the gun to be level with the still weakly-beating heart, he curled his index finger over the trigger.

“Don’t you worry, Palmer, you died for a noble cause~”

And then there was the bang and flash of igniting gunpowder before silence settled over them.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and wanted to screech at me in a manner similar to socializing, then you can find my Tumblr right [here](http://catsandcomposers.tumblr.com/).


End file.
